


Burn Down

by royalstandard



Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hybrids, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2346860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalstandard/pseuds/royalstandard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is only one person who knows what happened to the Labonair werewolves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fic based on Nyx ( diabolicalmachination ) and Anna's ( lydiaprettymartin ) head canon/speculation about the Labonair family list and Hayley's heritage. Dedicated to these two sweethearts. I hope you like it! 
> 
> ♥(✿ฺ´∀`✿ฺ)ﾉ

Standing at the window of the cabin with his thick arms crossed over his chest, Jackson was completely silent. His lips were pursed, one strand of his black hair hanging down over his right eye that he didn’t bother reaching up to tuck back out of his face. His brown eyes stared, unseeing, out across the moody bayou as his mind was filled and emptied of thought simultaneously. He was thinking so many things, it was as if he was thinking nothing. So much had changed in just a year. Oliver was the unofficial pack leader now, and he wasn’t going to fight him for control. Hayley was a hybrid. Her baby had died.

He closed his eyes as compassion for her welled up within him. They were forcibly engaged from birth with him to be her king regent when they came of age. She’d never known about any of that, or even who her true people were, until she’d unwittingly been drawn to New Orleans a year ago. She’d been through hell, and even if they weren’t in love, he considered her his friend. He considered her part of the pack.

But he seemed to be alone in that thought now.

Oliver had never much liked Hayley to begin with, and now that she was a hybrid, he was happy to cast her out altogether. Even if hybridism was something she’d never wanted and had been thrust upon her by fate, Oliver didn’t see any of that. He saw an opening to push her out of their community, and he was going to take it. 

Still standing at the window, his thoughts like a whirling thunderstorm within his head, the hair on the back of his neck prickled and he frowned ever so slightly. It was that feeling as if someone was watching him. Lowering his chin only a fraction of an inch, he pushed his thoughts back and allowed his keen werewolf hearing kick in. 

Footsteps. He’d been right.

"I wouldn’t suggest sneaking up on me," he announced in his low Southern drawl. He didn’t bother moving a muscle. Hopefully, whoever it was would just leave him alone. He’d come out here to this place to be alone on purpose. There weren't many people who even knew this cabin existed, and it was abandoned otherwise. Who could have found him here?

"You always did have the hearing of an owl," griped the slightly sardonic male voice behind him.

Surprise reverberated through Jackson and his brown eyes widened as he dropped his arms and turned to face the man who’d arrived behind him. He would know that voice anywhere even though it had been years since they’d seen each other. Relief and anger flooded through him simultaneously. The other male was only a couple years older than him, but he was shorter and more lean. His face was still in shadows cast by the dilapidated support beams hanging from the ceiling, but Jackson had it memorized. He could even picture the wry smile and the mischievously reproachful look in his eyes.

Jackson frowned, his irritation clambering up over his relief at the presence of an old friend. “What are you doing here?” he asked flatly, never one to start a fight needlessly. “Of all the times you could choose to return to New Orleans, and you pick now.” He shook his head and breathed out audibly through his nose. This was such bad timing. “A lot has happened in the past five years.”

The other werewolf stepped forward, his face coming out of the shadow so the waxing sunlight flushed up over his cheeks. His dark eyes almost looked feverish in their intensity, and he looked thinner than he had five years ago. He’d always been slimmer than Jackson, but now he almost looked malnourished. Jackson wasn’t a fool however; he knew physical appearance belied nothing about this man’s strength.

A sly, dark smile spread across the other man’s lips but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I heard about some rumblin’ goin’ on down here, and I came as quick as I could,” he answered, reaching up to run a hand through his spiky brown hair. His eyes grew serious as he dropped his hand back to his side, and he took another step forward. Jackson didn’t move as he watched him. ”Did you…” he swallowed, the intense look in his eyes only wavering for a moment as some emotion overtook him. As if angry with himself for showing emotion, his face tightened and his gaze steeled over again. Jackson didn’t give him the chance to speak again.

"You need to leave," he said firmly, his jaw setting. "Things have changed."

The other young man snorted and stood up straighter, his entire body language scoffing at the comment. He had always thought himself to be invincible. “So I’ve heard. Even the packs in the Appalachians have heard about the hell that’s broken loose down here. Last I heard the pack was blown to smithereens,” that odd emotion crossed over his dark eyes again before he was able to hide it, and he stepped forward entreatingly. “I thought you were all dead.” His voice broke, and Jackson believed him. He’d seen lies from this man before, but they’d known each other their entire lives. He knew when he was telling the truth.

Glancing away, unable to see that emotion, Jackson closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “Some of us are,” he admitted, instantly thinking of Eve. She was a victim of the attack on the bayou, and his eyes still stung at the thought of her death. His chest ached at the loss.

"We need to rebuild!" the other man stated in a frantic whisper, gesturing into the air as Jackson looked back at him, his eyes brazenly filled with his sadness. "With the vampires still in control of the city, they’ll attack again. They’ll kill all of us."

"The vampires aren’t in control of the city," Jackson stated, the emotion flattened out of his voice. He didn’t want to think about these things, but here he had no choice. "Cr—" he began, but was cut short.

"What?!" exclaimed the other man, that feverish light making him look insane as he lunged toward Jackson again. "Then who is?" he asked demandingly, almost accusatorily. 

"The Guerreras." 

The werewolf staggered back, his dark eyes widening in disbelief. “Marcel wiped them all out. That can’t be possible.” He shook his head, not wanting to process the information and have to admit it to be true.

Jackson shook his head, closing his eyes as he swallowed the lump of regret and shame and sadness in his throat. “Like I said, a lot has happened since you’ve been gone.” He opened his eyes to look at his former friend again. Only five years… it didn’t seem like that long, but it was a lifetime ago now.

The other werewolf drew himself up, covering his confusion as he watched Jackson’s face intently. Jackson knew what was coming next. It was the same question every time he returned, but now it was a truth Jackson wasn’t sure he could bear to give. Leaning his head back against the frame of the dirty window behind him, his lips parted and he breathed silently through his mouth. It was coming and he was bracing himself.

Emotions welled up uncontrollably in the other man’s eyes now. This was the one topic of conversation that would draw emotion out of him no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. It tore at Jackson’s heart as he watched it: the dissolution of decorum in his old friend’s face.

"Is she…? Have you seen her?" he asked finally, his lips parted to release a ragged breath that he covered by standing up taller again and pursing his lips. He wouldn’t cry. He was too proud; even after everything he’d been through, he was too proud to break down completely.

Jackson picked his head up off of the wall and watched the other man. Swallowing, he spoke after a moment of silence. “I have.”

The werewolf’s eyes widened, more disbelief in his face now than Jackson had ever seen. There was so much emotion on the face of this man who tried so hard to keep his thoughts and feelings in submission. “Andrea… she’s alive,” his relief flooded through his voice now, permeating the air around him. When the two men were friends, they’d been best friends, so close that Jackson could feel what he was feeling. He felt that familiar connection again as the endorphins rolled off and into the room.

He felt excitement, and he stepped forward, shaking his head and holding his hands up as if to ward the other man off. “She is alive. She goes by Hayley now, but… it’s complicated. You need to leave. You can’t see her.”

"What?!" exclaimed his former friend, anger piquing in his eyes. "You can’t tell me whether I can see her or not. Why couldn’t I?"

"It’s not safe," Jackson implored desperately, glancing over his shoulder and through the dingy window as if in fear someone may be lurking outside to hear them. Turning back, his eyebrows drew together as he tried to explain. "Oliver is pack leader now. You know how much he hates you."

The other werewolf scoffed and snorted, unabashed. “Oh, Nickelback,” he chuckled darkly, “He’s just upset about Camila. I’ve never been afraid of that mongrel.”

Jackson shook his head, gesturing with his hand as his voice dropped lower, a clear sign that he was trying to get his point across. “He hates you because of what you are, and he hates Hayley for it too.” 

The other man smirked, his characteristic mischievous grin lighting up his eyes with that feverish glow again. “Ollie never did like royalty.”

Jackson lifted his chin, his jaw twitching as he gently ground his teeth together. “Don’t start a war.. Now is not the time.” Seeing the other man ignoring him, watching the coils beginning to turn behind his eyes, Jackson released a breath. “Craig…”

Craig looked at him upon hearing his name, his brown eyes flashing as his grin grew lop-sided. “It’s not Craig anymore. I felt like I needed a change, plus, blending in is harder when everyone knows you’re the prince of the Crescent Wolves.” He shrugged casually before raising his eyebrows and looking up at the taller werewolf. “Please… call me Thrash.”


	2. Chapter 2

"Vampires?!"

"The Original vampires to be more exact," Jackson explained, shifting his weight so his hands were gently twined together in front of him, his knees pulled up and his feet planted on the leaf-covered ground behind the lean-to cabin. Thrash snorted rudely beside him, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

"She’s a wolf, she shouldn’t be with vampires," he pointed out, stating the obvious in a mildly sardonic tone.

Jackson smiled, the almost-healed cut across the bridge of his nose right between his eyes pulling slightly and panging him, but he ignored it. Looking over at his friend, he raised his eyebrows slightly. “What are you gonna do about it? One of them is enamored with her, and the other one is a hybrid.”

Thrash shrugged his shoulders, pursing his lips slightly and giving Jackson a ‘so what’ look. “Werewolf bites still work against Original vampires, don’t they?”

"Yeah, but not against a hybrid. Or at least I haven’t tried it," Jackson commented, amusement in his eyes at Thrash’s complete disregard for the dangerousness of the Mikaelsons.

"So you don’t know," Thrash pointed out, a sly glint sparking in his eyes as he smirked.

Jackson shook his head, smiling as he looked down at the ground between his feet. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t trust Klaus Mikaelson farther than I could throw him,” he amended, lifting his head as a serious expression cleared his face.

"Is he scrawny? A little guy?" Thrash asked curiously, a mischievous tone to his voice that made Jackson turn to look at him suspiciously. "He’s shorter than me—"

"But most people are because you’re a mammoth—"

Jackson ignore him, “— and he’s a little scrawny, sure.”

"I could take him," the other werewolf stated confidently, straightening his shoulders and shifting the positioning of his feet so the leaves rustled around his dirty boots.

Jackson was the one to snort this time, smiling ruefully as he looked over at the other young man. “He’s the Original hybrid,” he stated pointedly.

Thrash looked at him, his eyes widening slightly as he shrugged his shoulders upward an inch. “And? Does that mean I’m supposed to be afraid of him?”

"That would probably be wise," Jackson pointed out, sighing slightly and shaking his head as Thrash made a ‘pffft’ sound beside him. "If this Claude guy—"

"Klaus."

"—Whatever. If this guy has Hayley, then there must be a reason. Is she their prisoner?" 

Jackson’s lips parted and he glanced away, sighing audibly out through his mouth. A slight breeze picked up across the bayou, carrying the familiar stale scent of desiccating leaves and rotting bog along with the first chill of the autumn. His black hair shifted back out of his eyes as he stared, unfocused, out across the darkening landscape. “Not exactly.”

He could feel Thrash’s confused, questioning look before he even bothered turning to look at him. “Klaus is the father of Hayley’s baby,” he answered in a strained voice, imagining how poorly Thrash would react to such news. “Or at least, I guess it’s appropriate to say he ‘was’.” He hung his head for a moment, his sympathy for Hayley’s loss stirring painfully in his chest before he finally lifted his chin and glanced sideways over at the other werewolf.

Thrash’s jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together so hard the sound was audible to Jackson’s keen hearing. Jackson had already told him about her baby, but he hadn’t included this detail until just now.

Suddenly, he smiled, but the dark expression never reached his eyes. Instead, it was a bitter, wry smile that made the nerves at the base of Jackson’s skull tingle uncomfortably. Thrash shook his head, chuckling darkly, angrily. “You let her shack up with some damn vampires. You let her get pregnant by one of them - however the hell that is possible,” he griped angrily, rising to his feet in one swift movement that made Jackson flinch slightly.

He wasn’t the type to get easily angered, so he watched as Thrash began ranting at him, ranting and pacing. “Are you angry with me or with yourself?” he asked suddenly, making Thrash stop in his tracks so fast that the boards on the back porch creaked from his weight. Turning, he glared threateningly at Jackson, his dark brown eyes burning with anger and something worse… regret.

"How dare you?" Thrash asked, his voice so low it sounded as if it may break. It sent an unpleasant shiver down Jackson’s spine as he rose calmly and smoothly to his feet. Standing on the leaf-strewn ground put him at Thrash’s eye level, and he calmly planted one of his booted feet on the edge of the porch, draping his wrist over his thigh as he looked his former best friend in the eye. "You’re trying to blame me for this when you know there was nothing I could do. I didn’t even know she was alive until she came here. I’m not the one who abandoned her—"

"How dare you?!" Thrash exclaimed, almost screaming how as he lunged into Jackson’s face. He seethed, his breath hot in Jackson’s face, and Jackson turned his face away, pulling his chin back and closing his eyes for a moment. But even his obvious lack of desire in a fight didn’t repress Thrash. "I didn’t abandon her. I did everything I could for her. Don’t… you… dare," he hissed hotly, still confrontationally invading Jackson’s personal space.

"Somehow I don’t think she would see it that way," Jackson pointed out evenly. 

Thrash barked angrily in his face, a snapping, irritable sound that couldn’t be classified as a word. He growled but Jackson held his ground like a smooth stone in the center of a raging river, and watched his face. “I was five years old. What did you expect? I didn’t have a choice. How is a five year old supposed to take care of an infant?” he exclaimed, his wrath dying off slowly at the end of his words.

As if realizing his outburst, he backed off and returned Jackson’s personal space to him, glancing around as if just noticing his surroundings. It was moments like this when Jackson could really see through to the boy he’d known his entire life. He could see the shattered pieces of Thrash’s personality behind his dark eyes; he saw the trembling child who’d been orphaned too young. He’d seen it in Hayley too, although not as much. Her life had been different. She hadn’t lived like a wild animal for most of it.

"I’m sorry…" Jackson said, his eyebrows drawing together as he watched the other man. Thrash closed his eyes and shook his head, holding out a hand to tell Jackson not to say anymore. He wasn’t a fan of talking about how he was feeling or what he’d been through. Jackson could say in confidence that he was Thrash’s best friend in the world, and even he didn’t know the details. He didn’t know what he’d really been doing over the past five years, and there were times he wondered if the other werewolf was even still alive.

The moment was broken as a rustling in the leaves behind him caught his attention, and Jackson drew himself up, pulling his foot off of the porch to balance his weight as he turned to investigate. Squinting into the semi-darkness of the bayou beyond the decaying old cabin, he reached up and tucked a stray piece of his black hair behind his ear as a shape materialized slowly out of the darkness.

Her brown hair was messy, and she looked ragged, but in a mental way. Her clothes were clean and neat, but her face spoke of the stress and grief she’d endured over the past few weeks. The rings around her eyes from lack of sleep and long nights cast shadows into her chocolate brown irises, and her jaw was set firmly although she looked about to break.

"Hayley!" Jackson exclaimed gently, moving toward her as she staggered toward him. "Are you hurt?" he asked, reaching out to gently take her shoulders between his hands. She was so tiny compared to him, several inches shorter and much more slender. Afraid he would somehow break her although he knew that wasn’t possible, he didn’t hold her for long but offered her some space as she came to a stop and lifted her gaze to look up into his face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, almost looking bruised as if she’d dug the butts of her hands into her eye sockets to stop her tears for too long. Pain flickered across his face to see her this way, and he swallowed but said nothing as he waited for any response from her.

"Jackson…" she began, her voice quavering as she glanced away and swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Glancing her over, checking for any injuries, he frowned as he watched her. He could smell it now: blood. Her slender fingers had blood dried on them, and the neckline of her shirt had drops which had dripped from the sides of her mouth. Her lips were redder than usual, and he realized this was from a fresh meal that he could smell on her. The realization piqued his concern and worry and confusion. He hadn’t seen her in months - his heart ached to think about how long it had been - and now she looked like a demonic shadow of herself.

"Hayley, what’s going on?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice.

When she looked back up at him, a sad smile crossed over her face and he noticed tears shining in the sides of her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, he somehow knew this, and she didn’t, but the tears brimmed in her eyes against her will. “I used to be a mother… I used to be a wolf… and now I’m a monster…”

Consternation littered his face as he pulled back from her and dipped his chin to look into her face as she almost looked away again. “What are you… you’re not a monster. You’re still a wolf.” He couldn’t comment on her motherhood; it hurt too much, so he skirted around it.

"I’ve killed so many people," she rambled, ignoring him as she shook her head. Her brown eyes widened in fear of herself and what she’d done. "I’m a monster." She repeated it quietly a few times, and Jackson shook his head, reaching out to touch her shoulders again.

"Hayley. You have to tell me what’s going on. You’re just rambling," he insisted, urging her gently to look him in the eye and to tell him what she was talking about.

Finally, she took a deep, shaking breath and her gaze hardened as she met his eyes. “My baby is gone,” she spoke as if saying it out loud would make it real. Her gaze was hardened with grief and she looked as if she was torn between crying or killing something. He wasn’t sure which. “Those damn witches killed me. They killed me, Jackson.”

He shook his head slightly, frowning in confusion. She was right in front of him, how could she be dead? His lips parted to respond, but she didn’t let him. ”They slit my throat and left me dead,” she explained, boldly keeping his gaze even through his mounting confusion. “But I still had my baby’s blood in my system..”

"I’m a hybrid now." 

She stated it so flatly, so casually that it almost didn’t register what she’d just said. Realizing her words, his eyes widened and he released her shoulders slowly as he drew himself up. As he processed her words, he suddenly remembered Craig had been standing behind him when she arrived through the trees. Turning quickly to look back at Thrash as Hayley’s words sank in, he focused on the porch to see it was empty. Thrash was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The early autumn breeze stirred the leaves on the trees above him, the leaves which hadn’t already succumbed to the season and fallen to the ground. Thrash sat staring blankly out across the darkened bayou, his brown eyes unfocused as his mind ran. There was no light, but he didn’t need it. His werewolf eyesight enabled him to see perfectly in the dark, as easily as broad daylight. Besides, he wasn’t in the mood for light right now.

She was a hybrid. Andrea… Hayley was a hybrid. He felt as if he’d failed somehow, even though deep down he knew it wasn’t his fault or his responsibility. She’d gotten pregnant with that Original hybrid, and there was nothing he could have done about that either.

But impotence didn’t make him feel any better. It only made him irritable.

Pulling his feet up closer to the underneath of his thighs, he didn’t move as he heard rustling footsteps approaching him. Jackson appeared through the slender bodies of the trees, tucking his long black hair behind his ears as he approached. As always, concern was plastered across his face like a tattoo, and Thrash ignored him. He had always been the moody one; Jackson was the one who ‘felt’ things.

Jackson said nothing as he turned and gently lowered himself into the leaves beside Thrash. The leaves crunched welcomingly as his weight crushed them, and neither man said a word for long moments. Thrash didn’t want Jackson to speak first this time. He selfishly wanted to be the first to break the silence instead of hearing Jackson’s inevitable, compassionate drivel.

"I need to see her," he stated, effectively breaking the silence first. Filled with a moment of glee at his success, he disguised the childish satisfaction by staring blankly off into the trees. 

"Did you…hear her?" Jackson asked tentatively. Thrash snorted dismissively and dropped his chin. "Of course I did. She’s a hybrid now; the witches killed her. I need to see her. I need to explain."

Jackson shook his head, destroying the work he’d done to tuck his hair behind his ears. “This is the worst possible time you could meet her. You’re kidding, right?” he asked, incredulously.

Thrash’s eyebrows drew together as he turned to look at his best friend. “Now is the perfect time. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Jackson gave him a dumbstruck look, but Thrash didn’t ask again. He simply waited for the answer. Finally, Jackson threw his hands up and shook his head. “She just lost her daughter! She literally just died. You think revealing who you really are and what happened all those years ago is going to be a good thing on top of all these other heartaches?!”

Thrash waved a hand in the air, waving off Jackson’s reasoning. “So what you’re saying is to wait until the crises have passed and then drop the bomb on her?” he asked, glancing over at the other werewolf. Jackson sighed as if relieved and nodded.

"That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard."

Jackson grunted and coughed in surprise at the response. His eyes widened and he spread his hands, gesturing in hopes to get Thrash to listen to his version of reason. “Craig— Thrash… Hayley has enough on her plate. She doesn’t need you comin’ in and addin’ to that.”

Thrash narrowed his eyes and smiled that dark smile again, the one that didn’t reach his eyes. They obviously weren’t going to agree on this. He needed to meet Hayley. It had been too long already. He needed to explain things. He needed to justify himself.

He needed to let her know she wasn’t alone.

Jackson watched as the other man relaxed his position, dropping his hands from where they’d laid out across his knees so that he was propping himself up on the bed of dried up leaves. Thrash nodded his head and offered a slight smile. Jackson narrowed his eyes suspiciously. That was a mischievous look if he’d ever seen one, but it had been so long since the two men had spent much time together so he honestly couldn’t judge anymore. 

"Okay, Jack," Thrash replied with a slight shrug. He was giving in so easily, but he seemed to agree. Perhaps five years had taught him a little self-control. "You’re right. Now’s not the time." He glanced over at the taller man and offered him a smirk. "I won’t add to Hayley’s problems right now."

Jackson’s lips parted and he breathed an audible sigh of relief at the words. Nodding, he smiled his genuinely bright smile. “Thank you.” Reaching out, he patted the other werewolf on his shoulder before pushing up onto his feet and brushing off his jeans. “You’re welcome to stay out here if you need a place. It’s not much, but it’s all yours if you want it.”

Thrash nodded and smiled as nicely as he could manage which looked similar to a grimace thanks to his characteristically darkened face and heavy eyebrows. “Thanks,” was his short reply, but it didn’t sound unpleasant and Jackson accepted it as the best he was going to get out of the man.

Sitting calmly on the bed of decaying leaves as the crickets chirped around him and an owl hooted above his head, Thrash listened intently until Jackson had disappeared into the bayou on the other side of the house, heading back to his own home back with the pack no doubt. Thrash didn’t move for several long minutes after, just to insure he was entirely alone.

Pushing himself swiftly up to his feet, he brushed himself off and smiled darkly, raising one eyebrow as his eyes flashed yellow in the pitch black darkness beneath the trees. When he smiled, it seemed as if the moonlight glinted off of his fanged teeth. “Now may not be the time, but tomorrow will be,” he growled delightedly to himself before shifting in a moment into his wolf form and disappearing into the trees.


End file.
